Some of these responses are heart breaking.
My dad was very violent with a terrible temper. I don’t think I was a particularly messy kid but my bedroom had no storage, so I was always getting into trouble for my room being messy. He’d shout at me for what felt like hours bellowing ‘why? why? why?’ And I had no answer because there wasn’t an answer, so then he’d hit me, over and over, head, back, pulling my hair, whatever until eventually I’d be on the ground, and he sort of calmed down then. I didn’t mind being hit because it meant it was nearly over.
Worse than that, much worse actually, and I’m crying a bit thinking of it, was I had eczema, on my arms and legs, but worse on my hands. It wasn’t particularly bad compared to pictures I’ve seen of some peoples, but I’m really pale and so it glowed very red.
The only time we ate together as a family was Sunday dinner, and I did my best to hide my hands, as he HATED my eczema and was convinced I was dirty, so made me scrub my hands at the kitchen sink with a green pan scourer thing, until they bled. My big brother had quite bad acne and his poor face got the same treatment.
He used to hit my mum too, but to this day I wonder why she didn’t stop him hurting us.